


Oops. Sleep. Repeat.

by blythechild



Series: 2018 Advent Adventures with Blythe and Deejay [9]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Crush, Backstory, Bad Ideas, Casual Sex, Christmas Smut, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Drunkenness, Emotional Sex, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, Nerdiness, New Year's Eve, New Year's Resolutions, Office Party, Possibly Unrequited Love, Romantic Friendship, Secret Relationship, Television Watching, We Just Love Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 16:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: Everyone's gotten drunk at a party and done something they probably shouldn't. But when Emily and Spencer do it, it starts a domino effect of bad ideas and awkwardness that is breathtaking to behold.This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal amusement. This story contains adult situations and should not be read by those under 18.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my last entry for the 2018 CM advent calendar. Merry Christmas everyone, and thanks for tagging along!

Making it to the sofa felt like climbing Everest. The get-together had ceased being a party and was now safely in ‘rager’ territory. Emily crawled into the couch with a relieved cry that she would no longer have to fight either gravity or her drunkenness with the same vigor she had been up until that point. Life was too short: she’d gotten a snootful and she’d just have to shine it on until her metabolism caught up, that’s all. The sofa was soft and welcomingly warm, and then it grunted with a distinctly interrogative note. She focused hard on the blurry color next to her that was different from the other blurry colors.

“Reid?”

“ ‘mily?”

Oh. Well, that was fine then. “How long have you been here?”

“Forever,” he sighed boozily and didn’t twitch a muscle when someone in front of them dropped a glass and shrieked spectacularly.

“Mmmmmm,” she hummed as she relaxed against his chest. He shuffled a little but didn’t really react. She assumed this was acceptable and then threw an arm across him for good measure. “Snuggly.”

“What?”

“Yer snuggly. Even with all the bones an’ stuff.” 

She tightened her grip and burrowed against him. He smelled a little like beer and aftershave, and a whole lot like books and warm wool. It was sorta nice – like a drunk librarian, but with killer cheekbones and nice hands. Her mind drifted to his hands, and the booze kicked in hard. She licked her lips and then twisted to look up at him. He was staring down at her in a strange sort of bleary-eyed shock, all blinky and rosy-faced. But his hand was on her shoulder. His hair was messed up, as if he’d already been molested by someone at the party, and suddenly a terrible idea burped into her brain.

“Thanks?” he gusted. She bit her lip thinking about his.

“You wanna get outta here?” she said a little darkly. His eyebrows jumped, and then he licked his lips and she couldn’t stop looking at them.

“I, uh, I don’t think… I can make it off this couch.” His voice broke as he said it.

“S’okay. I can help you.” She wiggled in an attempt to get up, which largely resulted in her getting dizzy and falling back against him.

“You crawled onto the couch, Em. I saw you. Sort of. Everything’s a bit blurry.” He blinked at her rapidly. “Are my glasses on?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm. Curious…”

“C’mon,” She sat up again, steadied herself, and then yanked at one of his arms. He was looser than a stoned jellyfish. “We can do this if we work together. Yer super-smart, and I once permanently maimed a dude with a slide-rule, so… we’ve got this.”

He leaned up and then fell against her awkwardly with a huff of booze and something that made her mouth go dry. Her face was smooshed against his neck and his stubble grazed her as she breathed in to get another hint of whatever that scent was. She almost licked his throat to see what it tasted like.

“What does that _mean,_ Em? Are we… gonna beat somebody up? I’m so confused…”

“Of course not.” She got up, pulled him with her, and they both fell back onto the couch, legs half-hanging off it and with the distant sound of laughter at their expense. “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” she assured him as they stumbled to their feet again and made it this time. “At least when I’m drunk anyway…”

“Oh,” he gusted into her hair, lurching in time with her, his arm still clamped around her shoulder. “Good information to know.”

“Yes, I thought so.” 

She wasn’t sure it was true – she was busy saying things without thinking about them first. And shortly thereafter she was busy _doing_ things without thinking. They never made it out of the party at all, only to the room where everyone had dumped their coats. More than a few guests would grumble about the unexpected dry cleaning they’d have to do when they saw those coats again in daylight. Emily was not sorry – it was better than carpet burn. As they lay gasping in the pile of clothing afterwards, tangled, confused, and only half-dressed, Emily felt a deep sense of wonder wash over her. It was the same sort of feeling that made you call up your friends at two in the morning to gush about how much you loved them. How else would they know otherwise?

“Wow,” she murmured to the ceiling at this delayed wisdom explosion.

Reid just hiccupped beside her.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything hurt. Sunshine, his clothes, the breeze across the parking lot, the sedate rise of the office elevator. Today was going to be awful. He had only the vaguest understanding of how he made it into work on time, and suspected it was only muscle memory that made it possible. He sat at his desk quietly, staring at his coffee, deciding that it took too much effort to drink it, and counting down the minutes until he could load up on ibuprofen again. He hoped no one asked him anything difficult today.

He’d never had so much alcohol in his life and he was debating whether last night constituted his lifetime allotment of liver abuse or not. At the very least, he was _done_ with drinking for this holiday season – no brandy on Christmas Day, no champagne on New Year’s Eve. He’d be sober for the foreseeable future. And not just because his hangover was so immense it could probably be observed from space with the naked eye, but because he believed – but was not certain – that he may have overstepped some social boundaries in his inebriation. Everything was fuzzy but… he may have revealed his hand to Emily.

 _Prentiss, not Emily._ He shook his head and immediately regretted it, groaning quietly and trying to ease the pulsing throb with his hands. “Jesus,” he muttered.

It’s not… it’s not that it was bad. In fact, blurry recollections told him it was _amazing_ , and warm, and better than anything he’d manage to dream up on his own, and he was even almost 100% sure he’d only accidentally pinned her down with an elbow on her hair once. He even thought she might have cuddled with him afterwards. But then his brain went dark, and he woke up spread-eagled on his sofa in his apartment at dawn, with boozy dry-mouth and completely alone. His texts to her asking her if she got home all right went unanswered, and the longer that persisted, the more dread built up in him. He shouldn’t have done it, period. He couldn’t be sure what he said to her, either during or afterwards, and even if he didn’t embarrass himself that way, she might feel bad about it when sobriety hit.

He sighed and watched it ripple across the coffee he wished he could drink. He didn’t want to lose her because of something as silly as sex. He’d been told time and again that sex wasn’t always meaningful, and even though he didn’t think that was true, he wanted it to be so that one night wouldn’t steal his friend away. Maybe she’d be fine with it, maybe she’d compartmentalize. His stomach lurched when he thought that, and then he had to expend all his depleted resources into _not_ throwing up at his desk.

Something thumped loudly next to him and his head snapped up, making his vision swim, and he audibly gagged as he gripped his desk against the crazy vertigo. When he opened his eyes again, Emily was standing halfway between their desks glaring at him.

Damn. His heart sank. If only he could remember what mistakes he’d made…

“You drew on me,” she hissed, trying to keep it private, but still clearly pissed off.

“W-what?”

“You _drew_ on me. With a Sharpie.” She cocked her hands on her hips, and then twitched in pain, and he thought she was probably just as hungover as him, only with the clarifying benefits of rage. “I found them all over the place this morning.”

Oh boy. This was bad. He really had no memory of doing that. Emily leaned closer, eyes pinching in pain, mouth a firm line of unimpressed ire. 

“What am I supposed to do about _that?_ I’m gonna have to cover every inch of me for weeks now…”

“I’m…” His voice quit on him and he had to clear his throat and try again. “I’m so sorry, Emily. I don’t know… I don’t remember doing it.”

“Great,” she growled, and turned back to her desk, unpacking her bag too forcefully while not looking at him. “That’s just GREAT.”

His nausea returned when she gave him the cold shoulder. What did he _do?_ This didn’t feel like something that would blow over. Emily didn’t seem like she was fine with forgetting it happened. What if she cut him out now? What if she ignored him, except while working? He started to panic.

“Emily,” he whispered as he leaned closer to her desk. “I… listen… that party was nuts. Last night was-”

“Leave me alone, Reid,” she cut him off crisply, still not looking at him. “My head is pounding, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He twitched back as if she’d hit him, and then he turned to face his blank monitor while he focused on breathing. _Shit. Shitshitshitshit…_ He stared at his reflection in the monitor for twenty minutes before excusing himself and going to the men’s room to vomit. It helped his stomach, but not his head and certainly not his heart. He’d really screwed things up, and all for a feeling he couldn’t quite remember clearly. No wonder why she was angry.

He went back to his desk and typed an email with the subject line, ‘I’m sorry’. In it he placed links to various products that could remove permanent ink from skin, as well as a recipe for a homemade solution. He didn’t offer any recriminations or explanations, thinking that she probably didn’t give a damn about them at this point anyway. He waited until the end of the day to send it, and then he packed up and got out of there as fast as he could.


	3. Chapter 3

Take two at the office. She decided she a) shouldn’t sneak up on him, and b) scale back the Medusa impression she’d done the day before. When she settled down and stopped being a bitch for five minutes, she realized he’d been petrified of her all day. And then the email showed up and, well, she felt slightly monstrous in retrospect.

“Hey,” she murmured, but he jumped at his desk anyway. He blinked rapidly, and his cheeks started to get pink.

“Hello.”

“I, umm, listen,” she started, placing her bag down and striking a hopefully-peaceful pose. “Yesterday I was hostile and mean, and you didn’t deserve it. I was in pain all day and… venting it at someone else seemed like a good idea. But it was just cruel, and totally pointless since _I’m_ the one to blame for my own hangover, for chrissakes… Anyway, I apologize. My post-drunk etiquette leaves a lot to be desired, I guess.”

She tried to look remorseful, and she didn’t have to try that hard. She’d been upset all night about snapping at him; a fundamental part of her _hated_ being at odds with him and would do anything to fix it when it happened. Now, he was looking at her as if she’d started speaking in tongues, and she was confused about what that meant. 

“You’re… apologizing to me?” he said after a lot more blinking.

“Yes. I acted like a crazy bitch, and though you may understand that about me, intellectually, you probably weren’t banking on being on the receiving end of it while battling a hangover. That was deeply uncool, so…” She shrugged her shoulders. He seemed to get even more bewildered.

“But… I _did_ draw on you…” He lowered his voice to a whisper, cheeks getting redder. Her cheeks started to heat up as well.

“Yeah, but you were blotto at the time. Who knows? I might have dared you to do it. I don’t remember. But it sounds like me, doesn’t it?”

Try as she might, she couldn’t remember the pen shenanigans, but other things were much clearer. Like the weight of him against her, the bite of his zipper against her bare thigh, his tie pooling across her breasts when he leaned down to kiss her… She pushed the images back. It had been fun and surprising, but in the harsh light of day, it had almost cost them. It was wise not to think about it any further.

“And your email was helpful, so…” 

She felt nervous suddenly, and she could tell that her blush was getting away from her. The whole drama was stupid, and she wanted them to go back to the way they were. Reid looked at a blank spot on his desk blotter and seemed to find it fascinating, his brow wrinkling with focus, his fingers tapping absently. She was moved to step closer, to run her fingers through his tangles and mess with them, telling him he was overthinking a teapot tempest. But she stopped herself in midstride, feeling self-conscious now about something she would’ve done before without thinking. He looked up as she hesitated, and his gaze was huge and oddly thankful. She wondered if he was just thankful for the apology, or for _all of it_. And then she pushed that away too, chiding herself for being that arrogant and self-involved.

“I think you’ve more than made up for it,” she finished unsteadily, acting like that was her plan all along.

“Okay,” he mumbled, looking up at her through his silly hair. Then he offered a shy smile, and she thought about the way he smelled at the party. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she breathed, and then snapped herself back to business. “If it’s not too much to ask after so recently driving you into the ground like a finishing nail…”

His brow creased again in confusion. It was cute, and it shouldn’t have been. What sort of capable, professional profiler-type also had the stones to be ‘cute’? She needed to get her head examined.

“I, uh…” She looked around and then leaned closer. “Would you come with me and help with something?”

He blinked. “Yes. Am I allowed to ask what I’m signing up for? Not that I wouldn’t help in any case… I would. Regardless. Obviously. I mean, you know that about-”

“Great. C’mon,” she short-circuited his verbal diarrhea by grabbing his hand and dragging him from his desk along with her bag.

They shuffled from the bullpen, past the administrative offices, and down a low-traffic hallway. She found the door she’d been looking for, glanced both ways, and then opened it quickly.

“What?” he huffed as she pushed him in. “Do you need help carrying office supplies?”

She shut the door and turned on the overhead bulb. The whole place smelled like copier toner and highlighters, but at least it was sort of private. She put her bag down and pulled out a spray bottle and a washcloth, holding it out to him sheepishly.

“There’s one I can’t reach.”

His eyebrows popped, and he ducked his gaze to his shoes, but he took what she offered him. “Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s on my back. Would you…?”

“Of course, of course…”

She turned and raised her shirt to reveal the ink drawing. She’d gotten some of it, but most was beyond her contortions. And it wasn’t like she could go to Garcia or JJ with it without facing some questions she didn’t want to answer. She heard him shuffle behind her, and then breathe out as if he were about to go into battle.

“Umm, so, you have to scrub a bit,” she offered over her shoulder. “More than you’d think, actually.”

“Okay.”  
He cleared his throat roughly and then sprayed her, making her skin goosepimple in the process.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He shuffled closer until she could feel his pants brushing the back of her calves. Then he began wiping her skin gingerly.

“Harder than that,” she murmured, staring at the grey wall in front of her and trying not to think about someone else being so close behind her. He made a strange noise but did as she asked. As he put more effort into it, he pushed her closer to the wall. Eventually, his free hand came to her hip and held her steady. Her hands clenched around her shirt as she held it out of his way, she stared intently at the wall, and did everything she could to ignore his hand on her hip. 

He worked for a minute in silence, the slide of the cloth on her back too loud against the quiet of everything else. Finally, the rubbing stopped but he didn’t move back.

“It, uh… it’s not coming off.”

She closed her eyes and dropped her head between her shoulders. “Harder,” she breathed, feeling embarrassed and warm everywhere. “You really have to put some force into it. Don’t worry – I can take it.”

She thought she heard him swallowing, and she knew she was imagining things when it felt as if that sound was a physical thing skimming her edges. She breathed out slowly to shake the feeling away. The supply closet was too warm, the air too close. He moved behind her, his hand disappearing from her hip, and then the spray bottle squeaking again as he soaked her back with formula. Then she heard him put the bottle down, and when his hand returned, it was on the soft skin above her waist, his long fingers holding her just so. He went back to scrubbing her, but her whole body was zeroed in on his steadying grip. His skin felt hot – they seemed clammy where they connected – but she decided that was only because the liquid on her back was messing with her. The rubbing got more forceful and her torso began to sway away from him with each swipe, even with his hand holding onto her. He fell into a rhythm with it, like a tidal ebb and flow, and she felt his legs bump against her knees as he stepped into it.

“Brace your arm against the wall,” he suggested, his voice a little lower and quieter than she was used to. 

She mumbled agreement and braced herself, clutching her shirt in one hand. It changed her angle and his along with it – now, his thighs glanced hers when he wiped down her back, and Emily’s neck began to tingle in warning, _someone is really close._ His hand shuffled too, sliding around to settle at her front, to the side of her abdomen. She sucked in a breath and held it as his fingers moved, leaving heat when they passed and then burrowing into her when they stopped again. She realized that he could feel her breathing in this position, and so she started again, trying to marshal whatever the hell was attempting to make this something it wasn’t. Stupid nerve endings, sending all sorts of wrong out everywhere…

“H-how are we doing?” she asked with a weird unevenness. She needed to get them both back to their desks a.s.a.p.

He didn’t answer right away, but the wiping stopped, as if he were assessing. “Almost done,” he mumbled. She closed her eyes and breathed long and deep. _Hear that, limbic system? Just cool it – we’re almost done._

“You were right,” he continued with a strange vibration in his voice. “You have to be firm with it.”

 _Oh, Christ…_ she thought as she refused to roll her eyes but leaned harder against the wall instead. That turned into a mistake when it arched her back enough that his hips brushed her bum and they both went dead still simultaneously.

He was hard. Or at least it seemed that way from the brief press she felt. His hand disappeared from her abdomen and he shuffled back until his presence and heat evaporated. He moved so quickly it was almost as if it never happened at all. Just like the coat room incident.

“That’s probably good enough,” he said roughly.

“Reid…” she breathed, standing straighter but still facing the wall, her skin scorching.

“A few showers should take care of the rest.”

Then all she could think about was him crowding behind her with water running down them both, his hand back across her stomach and holding her too close, his mouth along her neck, droplets dappling all over her skin from where they fell from his ridiculous, soaked curls…

“Spencer,” she whispered a moment before she backed up until she bumped into him. She was flush against him from knees to chest, and she’d been right: he was hard as hell. Her brain blew out a couple dozen necessary circuits at once. He meeped in surprise and tried to back away, but her body reacted on its own, grabbing his hand and pulling it back to her stomach, lining his fingers with hers. Then she pressed as hard as she dared against him. 

“Finish it,” she breathed, and dug her fingers into his.

It was fortunate that the supply closet was in a section of the sixth floor that wasn’t well-traveled. Anyone wandering down that hallway was bound to hear the muffled sounds of containers dropping, papers scattering, and the distant, rhythmic thumping that might make one innocently believe there was construction happening somewhere in the building. All of that might have been ignored by a passerby intent on getting to the copier or the breakroom, but the moaning certainly would have caught their attention. So, Emily caught a break that day, because no one happened down that hallway at the exact moment she and Reid were fucking like mindless ferrets in a sea of spilled ballpoint pens and printer paper. And when it was over, him breathing hard into her back, pants around their ankles, and him desperately holding them upright with a hard grip around her waist and his thighs shaking at the back of hers, she thought they’d narrowly dodged an HR bullet, but might have fired a more lethal shot whose aim they couldn’t outrun.


	4. Chapter 4

Back at her desk, it took Emily nearly thirty minutes to settle back into her skin and for her blush to ease. It was another hour before she could begin writing a report cogent enough to submit to anyone.

That was, well… unexpected. And they were both perfectly sober this time. She wondered if this was a sort of slippery slope that happened when you screwed a colleague – that it could happen again easily because it already had. Contrary to what people might think, she’d never pissed in the company pool before, so she didn’t know how to handle it. She considered what Reid thought about this, since he seemed the furthest from the casual, office hook-up as anyone she’d met, and then her brain helpfully burped up the sound of his stuttered breath on the back of her neck, the feel of his hand biting into her skin as they moved together so they wouldn’t end up in a heap on the supply closet floor. 

She closed her eyes and held her breath for a moment, forcing herself to think about morgues and grieving families and hideous car crashes – anything but Spencer Reid. Her pulse settled, her body relaxed, and she opened her eyes, glancing over to Reid’s desk before she could stop herself.

He was staring at her in wide-eyed amazement. Who knows how long he’d been doing it. His files remained unopened on his blotter, his messenger bag unpacked where he’d dropped it at the corner of the desk.

_Damn._

She swallowed and refused to look around the bullpen to see if anyone else was taking in this little scene. Reid didn’t break eye contact and they sat there staring each other down for a full minute. Eventually, Emily lifted two fingers pointing at her face, then twisting her hand and pointing to her computer. _Back to work, buddy. C’mon now…_ He twitched instantly, blinking several times as if coming out of a trance, and then swiveled to face his desk. Emily watched the back of his head, something in her jumping around oddly like an excited puppy, then she shuffled that thought away as well and returned to the half-finished report on her screen. Looking up, five minutes later, Reid was in the exact same position. She sighed and felt a smile curl her lips. She picked up her phone and sent off a quick text.

_It helps if you turn the computer ON, genius…_


	5. Chapter 5

“Okay, Teen Titans, we have a situation here,” Garcia gusted in a cloud of frills and glittery nail polish as she breezed into the conference room. Everyone looked up.

“You mean, _more_ of a situation than powering through six consult cases on Christmas Eve, sugar?” Morgan winked, then he glanced at Hotch’s lack of amusement at the far end of the table and quickly went back to his paperwork.

“Yeah, Mocha Thunder, more than clearing the decks of ick before we go on break,” Garcia smiled at him and shined Hotch’s scowl on. Unlike Morgan, the boss’s frowns had no effect on her whatsoever. Garcia produced a sticky note and waved it around magically. “I need some files from the archive room.”

The entire table groaned.

“And some of them are super old. Over twenty-five years. You know what that means…”

“A needle in a haystack. With dust,” Morgan grumbled.

“Actually, a needle in a _needle_ stack would be more accurate,” Reid chirped up as everyone shot him a ‘not now, Reid’ look. “Finding a needle in hay would be relatively easy with a magnet-”

“Are the files essential, Garcia?” Hotch interrupted wearily.

“I wouldn’t have bothered you guys if they weren’t.” She waved the note around again. “So, who wants it? Hmmm?”

Emily stood with a sigh, stretched until her joints cracked, and then flicked her fingers at Garcia. “Alright. Gimme…” The rest of the table relaxed.

“Hey, Prentiss, you bucking for a promotion or something?” Morgan smirked, though seemed more than happy she’d sacrificed herself to the cause.

Emily scanned the note without looking up. “It’s called work ethic, Derek. You should try it on for size someday…” She glanced at Hotch. “There’s a lot here. I’ll be gone for a while, especially if stuff is misfiled down there.”

Hotch nodded. “Reid, go with her.”

“What?” Reid sat up so straight it was almost painful. And his heart launched into his throat. “Why?”

Emily gave him an odd look.

“Because we all want to get out of here sooner rather than later,” Hotch intoned patiently. “And if files are mislaid in the archive, as they often are, there’s no one who can sort through that faster than you.” He arched an eyebrow at Reid when he didn’t move. “Is that a problem?”

“No, sir. No…”

But it was a problem. A very big problem. Because he couldn’t breathe, and his heart was racing, and he was beginning to sweat a little. Maybe getting out of the conference room and away from all of that professional insight was a wise move after all. He got up and made a beeline for the doorway, breezing past Garcia without waiting for Emily. 

“Yer gonna get dust on that pretty sweater of yours!” Morgan called after him cheerfully, and Reid spent a second loathing his friends.

Emily caught up with him at the elevators and he could feel her staring at him. But she said nothing. The elevator arrived and whisked them to the basement level. Emily held out the sticky note on her finger.

“These are the case numbers,” she murmured.

He obediently memorized them and then stared at the elevator doors until they opened. Her smell was everywhere in the confined space – a mix of something clean with a hint of spice as an afterthought that made his mouth water. He leapt out of the elevator when it arrived and breathed in the stale basement air with relief, his pulse still pounding at his temples and throat. He heard her walking behind him, her gait measured and unhurried. He _knew_ she was still staring at him.

“You okay?” Her voice sounded worried, unsteady as it echoed down the hallway.

His stomach twisted, and he turned to look back at her. She was trying to smile, but the lines around her eyes were pinched. She _was_ worried, or upset – either way, he didn’t like doing that to her.

“Yeah. Fine. Great, actually. How are you? I’m sorry, I should’ve asked that… very rude not to. I apologize. So, how are you doing? I’m sure you’re well. You look great…” He bit his lip and shoved his hands in his pockets. _Just SHUT. UP. doofus._

The truth was he was far from great. He was a nervous wreck, and he wasn’t sleeping. Every time he tried to relax, his thoughts drifted to her and wondering if _it_ would ever happen again, and then trying not to hope for that because, obviously, it was just sex and not whatever his emotionally-stunted brain was trying to convince him of instead. He wasn’t Emily’s type – he knew that – and it had been five days since the supply closet incident and she’d never brought it up. So, the manifest evidence was that she was over it, and he was unfortunately screwed. Figuratively and literally.

She stared at him in confusion as he stood before her paralyzed by his bumbling and ineptitude. Then she sighed. “Well, I’m currently having a super awkward moment with my favorite weirdo, but other than that, I’m doing fine. Thanks for asking.”

She followed that up with a smirk, and god help him, he melted a little. _Dammit, she’s not helping at all._

“Yeah, uh… yeah. Sorry about that.” He rolled on his feet and gave her a shy smile before he could stop himself. She lit up when she saw it, and his heart shut down for a painful moment and then thudded back to life with a force he thought she must have been able to feel as well. Man, he was beyond screwed. Her cheeks started to get rosy, or at least he thought so in the dim lighting, then she shrugged and walked past him to the file storage room door.

“C’mon, let’s get this stuff and get outta here. I don’t want to spend Christmas with the spiders and killer mold spores…”

“There’s no such thing as _killer_ mold. There’s just mold. Killing requires intent.”

“Yes, Professor Literal. Thanks for the clarification,” she said as she opened the card catalog drawer and coughed at the plume of dust that rose from it.

“Spiders are another matter though. Those suckers have an agenda.”

She chuckled, and he felt like he’d swallowed the sun. Maybe they’d be fine. He just had to get back to this easy give and take that they’d always had and ignore that he’d ever felt her shiver against him, that she’d ever gasped with pleasure because of something he did to her. It seemed as though she’d already found her way back to that comfortable place – he had to man up and do the same. He was under no illusions it would be easy for him, but he had to try. He wanted her in his life too much not to, and anything more than this was never going to work out anyway.

They spent an hour sorting through battered banker’s boxes and found the majority of Garcia’s files intact and where they should be. They both began to joke that it was a Christmas miracle, and thought they might make it back to the sixth floor without any strife or papercuts. But the last two case numbers on the list were missing, and then Reid got an idea to check through every file from 1993, and then they were both up to their armpits in faded case reports that smelled like twenty-year-old cigarettes and regret. The glamour of this job was never-ending.

Reid looked up from his banker’s box, neck cramping in complaint, and watched Emily as she hunched over hers. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor between the stacks, smudged with dust and with it producing an odd halo of motes around her hair in the light as she flipped pages. Her mouth was open, face creased in concentration, and Reid’s heart throbbed miserably at the sight. She was the perfect nerd, not the disaster he was. She possessed all the obsessive intellectual qualities he admired, but she was also fun, and politic, and, yes, sexy as hell. He’d never find another woman like her, and that led him to all kinds of depressing conclusions about his future.

All of a sudden, she gasped and reached out blindly to grab his leg where he sat next to her. His attention sharpened painfully.

“Got it!” she mumbled.

“Got what?”

“This is the Pendleton case file. _And_ , it references the Sandoz file to boot. There’s a storage number here…” She scrawled out the number on a sheet of paper at her side. “What are the odds, huh?”

“I, uh… I don’t know,” he stuttered. Her head popped up and she stared at him critically through the dust and the gloom.

“Really? You don’t know the odds? What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing,” he said defensively, standing too quickly and grabbing the paper with the file location on it. “Let’s find this and get back upstairs.”

He loped ahead of her while she packed up the open boxes in the stacks. He found the location three aisles down and skimmed the box numbers until he located his target. It was on the top shelf, just out of his considerable reach. He grumbled under his breath, thought about going back to the front of the storage room to fetch the step ladder, and then decided it would take too much time and that he wanted to get back to reality as soon as possible. He’d brushed his fingers along the box’s corner when Emily appeared at the end of the aisle.

“Hey,” she called out, startling him. “Do you want the ladder-”

He yelped, knocking the box as he jumped back, and then both it and the two boxes next to it tumbled forward into the aisle, hitting his head and showering the floor in a chaos of old paperwork. He grunted as the box edge winged him, and then backed into the opposite shelving unit, cracking the back of his head on the steel runner. Then he slid to the ground, holding both assaulted spots with a whimper, humiliated.

“Spencer!” 

She ran down the aisle and then crouched on her knees next to him. He didn’t want to look at her. He was just a blundering idiot and he didn’t want to see it confirmed in her eyes. How had she ever ignored that long enough to be intimate with him? Her hands landed on his and pulled them away. Eventually, he had to open his eyes and glance at her.

“You okay? Jeez…”

His head pounded, and his heart felt like lead. Crawling away into a dark hole for a week or two seemed really appealing at that moment.

“Oww…”

She shushed him and then bent closer to look at his head. Her smell attacked him once more, and he decided there was no relief to be had from ignominy today. She checked him critically, lighting a sting with her fingers on his head that he hissed at, and then she rocked back on her heels and gave him a lop-sided smile.

“You’ll live.”

“My body will, but my ego won’t,” he grumbled.

“Dude, your lack of coordination is not news to me,” she laughed gently, but to him it felt like mockery. He turned his head away with a wince and focused on the scattered case files instead. There was a moment of silence that stretched out over them, and between his aching head and his muted expectations, he didn’t have the energy left to shove it off and pretend everything was fine.

“Hey,” she tried again, her fingers skimming along his jaw as she gently turned him back towards her. Her smile had faded, and her eyes searched his. “You’ll have a goose egg. So what? People drop things. Last week I dropped a hardcover book on my foot and thumped around my condo afterwards all mad at gravity like a cranky toddler. It was spectacularly juvenile – you would’ve loved it.”

He smiled at that despite himself, and she grinned back, shuffling closer. “I probably would have,” he murmured, hand reaching for her arm and resting in the crook of her elbow.

Her smile faded once more but she inched closer, still holding him lightly by the jaw. He went still as he watched her, wondering what she was planning. Her eyes flicked over his face, and she hesitantly raised her other hand, brushing his shoulders and chest in quick swipes.

“Dust all over you…” she mumbled uncertainly, eyes flicking to his and then away.

“Morgan tried to warn me,” he breathed back.

Her hand stilled, resting lightly on his shoulder. And then, with great deliberation, she shuffled until her knees brushed his thigh, and she was inches from his face. Her hand rose from his shoulder and skimmed into his hair, as if she were brushing dust from it as well, but her fingers lingered and circled against his scalp instead. His eyes rolled shut and a whimper escaped him as his cheeks flamed that he’d given himself away so easily. Her fingers massaged his tangles and he felt her breath across his lips. Her scent was all around him now, driving him mad with memories he tried to put aside since their last moment together. He couldn’t open his eyes. This was a dream, and if he opened his eyes it would end in favor of real life. His breath stuttered out of him and he couldn’t disguise that from her. She was too close, too tied into his pulse and his tiniest movements to convince her that he was anything other than carried away. Then her lips nipped his, and his eyes flashed open instantly.

He watched her watch him. She was cautious, a little unsure – it sort of turned him on even though he couldn’t figure out why. Her hand tightened at his jaw and she licked her lips, and he was suddenly riveted by that small gesture. When she dipped back towards him, he met her halfway with a soft moan. She pulled him in, her grip urgent but her mouth soft. Her tongue licked the edge of his lips, and he let her in, his other hand rising from the mess of spilled files and curling into her hair. She whimpered when he did it, and his chest felt as if it expanded to twice its size in an instant. He grinned against her mouth and let her in deeper, as much as she wanted, and she wanted a lot. _How can this be happening again?_ , his mind bubbled, but most of him was too far gone to care about the answer. When she eventually pulled at his sweater and tugged on his belt, his mind went silent and his body eagerly took control. There was nothing for him then but her lips at his throat, her nails digging into his back, the firm heat of her thighs wrapped around his hips. She cried his name when she bucked under him – cried, like there was a single cure for the state she was in – and he lost his mind for a little while. He remembered coming harder than he ever thought he could, vision whiting out on him for a moment and coming back to find him gasping and shaking like some newborn animal. She was holding him so close that all he could do was tremble over her.

This was well beyond screwed. He was _fucked_ now.

They came apart and lay side by side in the scattered files and dust and cobwebs trying to catch their breath and their wits. They stared at the ceiling, and Reid idly wondered how long it would be before Hotch sent someone to find them. Then he decided they’d probably die down there before anyone volunteered to go to the basement. He turned to tell her that when she mumbled, “This keeps happening…”

She was staring at the roof, face creased as if she was pissed off. It was like throwing ice water over him. His chest seized, and he choked a little, but not enough to make her turn to look at him. Pulling his hand quietly from hers, he tucked himself back in and sat up, back to her.

“Let’s clean this up and get Garcia her files,” his voice hitched, but she didn’t seem to notice as she sat up as well and shrugged into her blouse again.

They worked silently to reorder the spilled boxes, not meeting each other’s eyes until they were at the storage room door. She looked him over then, brushing dust from his sweater and then nodding. They didn’t say a word as they rode the elevator, watching the numbers light up above their heads, and by the time they got back to the sixth floor, Reid’s stomach sunk with understanding of what had to happen next.


	6. Chapter 6

“Emily? Wash your hands. Dinner will be in ten minutes.”

Emily rolled her eyes in exasperation three floors above her mother. “Mom, I’m not seven, you know…” she yelled back.

“Does that mean you’ve washed your hands, young lady?”

“No,” Emily grumbled under her breath and shuffled out of her room towards the bathroom like the sullen teenager she used to be. Some things never changed. 

Prentiss Christmas was proving to be almost argument-free this year, so she was trying to do what she could to keep it that way. But she’d rather be back in D.C. She’d rather be coaxing Reid into some poorly-planned adventure like she’d done in years past. Their ‘orphan’ Christmases were often quite memorable, and were certainly more fun than midnight mass, cocktails with the neighbors, and an overdressed meal at her mother’s place. She washed her hands and wondered what Reid was doing tonight. A small part of her (well, not _that_ small) wondered if he was thinking about her. A wave of heat rippled over her and she looked up into the mirror to see herself blushing. She sighed and gave herself a glare.

“Thinking about you doesn’t mean he’s thinking about fucking you,” she murmured, though she really hoped he might be. Thinking about fucking her friend was becoming a bit of an issue for her. It would be nice to know she wasn’t alone with that problem.

“This can’t keep fucking happening,” she told herself. “Someone will find out or guess. It’s not worth the risk if it’s nothing more than inserting tab A into slot B…”

She realized her expression was confused and worried, because she _really_ didn’t know what to do about Reid. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

Her reflection was resolute in its lack of assistance, and she flipped it the bird as she swore softly and went back to her room. Her phone lay on the bed and she stared at it, biting her lip and fighting indecision. She paced away from it and shook her head.

“It’s a bad idea, hon.”

Then she turned back, and the phone just lay there placidly, not inviting or refusing her. No one had a helpful, goddamned opinion today it seemed. She stalked back, loomed over it and gave it her best glare, hands cocked on her hips.

“Oh, fuck this,” she growled after a moment, and picked up the infernal thing dialing a number before she could change her mind. The call rang and rang, and as it did she got colder and colder. Then there was a click.

_You have reached Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI. Please leave a message._

She hung up and dropped the phone back onto the bed. 

He never did anything on Christmas. He’d always just… been around whenever she called him up, usually doing something boring and nerdy like some sort of high-functioning, ambitious housecat. But maybe he was _busy_ this year. And then her brain exploded with all the ways he could be busy, and with whom, and doing what without her. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking about her at all, too diverted by something or some _one_ else to give her a second thought. He didn’t seem like that type of guy to her, but then again, he didn’t seem like the type to have drunken sex with a co-worker in a cloak room either. Maybe he had a whole secret life she didn’t have a clue about, and this _whatever this was_ between them was just a part of that secret. Not important enough to be mentioned or worried about.

“Emily, what are you doing up there?” her mother bellowed up the staircase. “I need help carving the bird…”

“Nothing,” Emily muttered to herself as she watched her silent phone. Then she turned and called out more clearly. “Be right down, Mom…”

 

 

Reid pulled his battered copy of _A Christmas Carol_ from the bookshelf as he headed for bed with a cup of cocoa. He passed his phone on the way and saw it flashing. He swiped the screen.

**Missed call: E. Prentiss Dec 25, 7:05 pm**

There was no message. 

He sighed deeply and cleared the notification. Then he took his book and cocoa to bed. Though the cocoa went cold, and Dickens went unread as he lay awake and stared at his ceiling.


	7. Chapter 7

“Christ, Emily, this is the worst decision you’ve made in a lifetime of disastrous decisions,” she grumbled as she stood, inert, at his door. She’d been lurking there like a bush-league stalker for seven minutes trying to find the will to knock or, more likely, the energy to leave. She looked down at her phone to confirm the length of her waffling, and just then, the screen lit up.

 _Are you coming out with us or not?”_

The line of text was followed by repeated party hat and pink glitter emojis. Emily smirked and typed back.

_Not this year, Pen. Go forth and pillage New Year’s singletons without me._

The reply came almost immediately and seemed to beep with umbrage.

_Are you kidding me?? Do you have a BETTER PARTY to go to???_

_No, honey, I don’t. Honest. I’m just not feeling it this year._

_Well, that’s where the booze and hawt bods come into play…_

_LOL! No, Penelope. I mean it. I just want a quiet New Year’s for once. Gonna stay home and act my age._

_Pffft! What does AGE have to do with it? If you’re determined to be a killjoy, have at it. But if you change your mind, you can track my movements on Instagram. Come find meeeeeeee…_

The text ended with a cat riding a rainbow, an angry unicorn, and an emoji of the Tardis. Emily chuckled, rolled her eyes wishing her friend well, and then pocketed the phone to face her door dilemma once again. She sighed at it angrily.

“This is stupid,” she muttered and then shook herself to attention. “At the very least, he owes you an explanation. And if he’s not home… well, I guess that’s all the explanation you need.”

She knocked on the door sharply and waited.

 

Reid heard a knock and turned the volume on the movie down. He waited. Sometimes the neighbors did weird things like hang pictures late at night, so banging wasn’t always a clear signal of unexpected guests. But the knocking happened again, this time a little less forcefully. He got up and wandered to the door without much enthusiasm. He made it clear to Morgan that he wouldn’t be conned into going out tonight, and he was going to be ticked off if his friend decided to overrule that edict. He peered through the peephole, and then stopped breathing. Quickly looking down at his ratty Kermit the Frog t-shirt and flannel spaceship pants, he had a hysterical thought about changing before answering the door. But no, he couldn’t do that – she’d leave. She couldn’t leave. Maybe she’d agree to wait on the stoop while he changed into something less… twelve.

He rattled the locks loose and swung the door open so quickly that she jumped back a little. “Hi,” he mumbled nervously and waved. _Waved?_ Oh god, this was already a disaster.

“Hey,” she said, eyes flicking over him and his dreadful fashion choices. “Ummm,” she focused on the spaceship pants and her face went terribly neutral. “Are you busy? I know it’s New Year’s Eve…”

“No. No, I’m not busy. I mean, do I _look_ busy?” He meant it to sound funny, but it came out sounding defensive, and it made Emily shuffle back a step. “No, really. I, uh… what’s up?”

Emily stared at him oddly for an instant, and then shrugged.

“Well, I came here to ask why you’ve been avoiding me.”

He blinked as his stomach twisted and his brain hiccupped on him.

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You’ve barely said a word to me in the past four days. You avoid being alone in the same room with me, and you’ve been acting all wildly-engrossed by the year-end reports.” She pointed at him. “YOU are avoiding me.”

His pulse rabbited in his throat. “I’m not avoiding you, I’m keeping a respectful distance. It’s completely different.”

Her face creased up and she shook her head, clearly not appreciating his subtle distinction. “Why? Is it because of the sex?”

His head whipped around so quickly his neck complained. The hallway was empty but he triple-checked it to be certain, then he waved her in.

“Can we not discuss this in front of my neighbors?”

She mumbled, “Sure” as she passed him, and he closed them into his apartment. His mouth went dry as her scent followed her in, and he told himself, _be strong – do what needs to be done – she’ll understand._

“Yes, it’s because of the sex,” he gasped as he turned to face her. Her expression flickered between shock and something like distress, but then she folded it all away under one of her patented masks.

“If the attention was unwanted, all you had to do was say something to me,” she looked to her feet, her hair cascading down to hide her face. “I’d hate to think… that you did anything because you felt unable to say no, or…”

His heart rate sped up so quickly, he coughed at the loss of air. He rushed forward and grabbed her arm, then realized what he was doing and dropped it again.

“No, Emily, that’s not what I meant at all.”

She peered up at him, eyes openly worried, and his heart broke a little.

“I mean… I couldn’t tell you ‘no’, but that was because I was flattered and attracted-” He stopped and took a deep breath. Then he squared his shoulders and let her have it. “Listen, I know it’s just sex. But… that’s not the way I feel and… the last time, you said ‘this keeps happening’ like it upset you, and I thought… well, I thought if we just stayed apart for a while, until the physicality wore off or whatever…”

“Until the physicality wore off?” She seemed… angry. His head started to hurt with the pressure pulsing at his temples. He rubbed the ache away as best he could.

“Yeah. If we let that part burn out, then we could be like we were before. Because this sorta started accidentally, and maybe you didn’t want it to go this far. But we can be slaves to our hormonal drives and… And if we just gave ourselves some breathing room and the impulse faded on its own, you wouldn’t… be upset about being with someone you didn’t really want anymore,” he finished weakly.

“Being with someone I didn’t really want??” Her questions were getting louder and didn’t feel much like questions to him. He nodded cautiously.

“Spencer, _why_ wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

She glared at him, and he felt cruelly put on the spot. He glanced down at his feet, past the silly pajamas, and thought, _does she really expect me to list the reasons? Socially constipated, sartorially inept, phobias up the ying-yang, abandonment issues, inexperience, addiction, possibly emotionally unavailable…_ He heard her shuffling across from him, and then she took a deep breath in and sighed it back out again.

“Maybe what happened at the party was a little out of our control. Lack of inhibitions… whatever you want to chalk it up to…” Her hand wrapped around his forearm lightly, and it lifted his gaze back to hers. She looked genuinely anxious. “But do you honestly believe I’d sleep with someone I didn’t want to while stone-cold sober?”

“You, uh… you…” He couldn’t think. The words were just _gone_ from him. Maybe he was having a stroke.

“Is that what you really think this was? Some sort of feral impulse that was out of our control?”

He shrugged because he still couldn’t find any words. For him it felt both intentional and unintentional. Because he wanted her, and that was a choice. But the way he was when he was with her felt more like instinct.

“Spence… you’re _sexy_ ,” she said it like it was obvious. All he had for that was more amazed blinking. “None of this was something I didn’t want. In fact, I’ve been having a hard time _not_ thinking about you and trying to figure out if you’d like it to be… something else.”

“S-something… else?”

“Well, you know…” she ducked her head and he was immediately panicked because NO, HE DID NOT KNOW. He turned his arm under her grip quickly and clasped her hand. _Please tell me what’s happening, Emily…_ She looked up and seemed shocked by his expression.

“It’s, uh… it’s not really worth it – the risks we’re taking at work, I mean – if it’s just a roll in the hay, you know…” she murmured.

“It’s not a roll in the hay for me,” he rasped painfully, and then cleared his throat to try again while his lungs refused to cooperate. “It’s never been that. Even the first time. I promise you, Em.”

“Oh.” She started blinking too much. “Really?”

He nodded because he didn’t want to fight his lungs again. It seemed a little unfair that he had to battle his body _and_ his neuroses _and_ fight to express himself _all_ while wrestling his inherent obtuseness. Honestly. The universe ought to give him a break. But Emily gave him one instead.

“Well… thank you. I had no idea,” she said quietly and then smiled at him, her fingers sliding through his and holding him firmly. And finally, his breath came back. “Maybe we could… spend some time together? Get to know one another outside of work and, uh… bed?”

He nodded and felt himself break out into a ridiculous grin. “S-sure. I’d like that. Uh, not that we’ve ever made it to a bed in the first place, but, you know… I get what you’re saying. And, uh… on the ‘to-do list’: aim for a bed at some point…”

She laughed loudly, her whole body hitching in its relief. Then she pulled him in by his hand and wrapped him in a hug that melted him to his bones. He sighed into her hair as her arms curled across his back, snuggling down against her shoulder as he wrapped her up as well. He thought he could hold her like this for weeks and be happy.

“What a mess,” he whispered against her, cuddling her closer. “It’s hard to justify our job titles with first-hand observations as wide of the mark as these were.”

She laughed again, cupping his jaw and drawing back so she could look him in the eye. Her fingers circled that line of him gently, over and over.

“I don’t think it helped that it came from out of nowhere and hit us like a sledgehammer.”

“It wasn’t from out of nowhere,” he whispered seriously and held her gaze. Her pupils widened, and her mouth dropped open slightly. He felt a blush rising in his cheeks. There would be time later to talk about that. He shrugged in her hand, his own sliding down to rest in the curve of her hips. “So, I’m sexy, huh?”

He smirked a little and she smirked back eventually.

“The space pants might be pushing it, but, yeah.”

“What’s wrong with the space pants?”

She glanced down at them once more. “They look comfortable,” she said warmly, ever the politician’s daughter.

“They are,” he huffed.

“Well, that’s what counts.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth carefully. It was a calculated gesture – something intimate, but also quite chaste. He quickly dipped back in when they parted, and left a soft kiss of his own, but squarely on her mouth, tugging her lower lip a little before letting her go as if to say, _I won’t take more, for now._ Her cheeks pinked up as he held her, and then she quickly bit her lip and smiled at him.

“I should go,” she murmured, slipping away from him.

What? No…

“Do you, uh… do you have plans tonight?” he asked as his voice cracked and he winced. But he’d found the will to do it. She looked at him and shook her head, no. “Well… wanna watch a movie with me?” He ducked his eyes again. “We could start getting to know each other right now.”

“Okay,” she turned back and waited at his side until he pulled it together and he led her into his living room.

“I… I’d just started _Blade Runner_ before you arrived. Are you up for that?” He gestured towards the sofa and waited until she took a seat before taking his next to her. “It’s sort of a New Year’s tradition for me. But we can choose something else if you’d like.”

“A tradition?” Her eyebrows rose as she settled in.

“Yeah,” he smiled and folded his legs under him in an impossible way. “Growing up, the local tv station in Vegas closed down from Christmas to New Year’s and played pre-programmed material that no one saw fit to change for years. Someone in their infinite wisdom ran _Blade Runner_ in the New Year’s Eve timeslot, and since we didn’t have cable in the house…”

“You watched _Blade Runner_ whether you wanted to or not,” she nodded. “Got it. It’s a bold choice though. Sorta dark and esoteric to watch on a night when everyone is getting excited about something new…”

“Oh no. It’s beautiful. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen it, and it always strikes me that way. It’s jaded and flawed, just like life, but all of the characters are chasing something bigger and more meaningful, even if they die for it. It’s simply gorgeous in its ugly truth, in a way only the movies can deliver,” he grinned, delighted at someone listening to his fanboy babbling for once. “And there’s Rachel, of course. I had such a crush on her when I was ten…”

“The replicant?”

“She’s more than that. She’s the heart of this world’s future: a machine who can feel and evolve. She’s superior to men in every way, which makes her a threat. But underneath the dark, cold beauty, the dismissive intelligence, and the temptation, she’s just like us - a mess of emotions and searching for her place in the world. It’s the most fundamental existentialist struggle. In fact, it’s the machine characters that you empathize with the most in the film, not the humans. It’s fascinating, really.”

“Okay, you’ve convinced me,” Emily raised her hands in defeat. “I haven’t seen this movie since college, so… let’s find out if all of your romanticizing is justified.”

“Alright…” he drawled the word out as he picked up the remote and restarted the film. He was practically coming out of his skin with how excited he was at sitting on a sofa watching a thirty-five-year-old movie with her. He should have been self-conscious, or worried that she’d get bored, but as he snuggled against his corner of the couch, and then she slotted herself into his side, he thought he might burst from happiness. 

They made it to the part where Rachel was hiding out at Deckard’s place when Reid had a startling realization. He looked down at Emily curled against him, focusing intently on the scene, and thought, _she’s my Rachel._ The patrician beauty, the perfect turnout, the intimidating intelligence, and the emotional fragility hidden away underneath it all – he’d found a woman who matched his pre-teen crush almost exactly, and had fallen for her. He was already uncomfortably warm from the love scene, but now a spike of inappropriate desire lanced through him too. And he didn’t know how he felt about it, even though the ten-year-old in him was doing cartwheels. The scene ended, and he tried to push the thought aside, rubbing circles into her shoulder absently.

“Do you think I look like her?” she asked as she shifted against him. One of her hands slid over his abdomen and lay there like they did this every day. He tightened all over, and he knew she’d feel it under her hand.

“Maybe. A little,” he murmured nonchalantly. 

“I think I do,” she said, and then twisted to look up at him, eyes dark and guarded. If she had Victory Rolls and satin red lips, she’d be a dead ringer. “I think I’m a lot like her, actually. It’s a little uncanny.”

“Oh?” he whispered, not knowing what else to say.

She stared at him for a full minute while the movie carried on without them. He couldn’t look away from her, and she was intent on him, searching his face, pulling it apart in her mind. His pulse flickered anxiously, and there was no way to hide it, so he just focused on her eyes and waited.

“I think I get you now,” she whispered eventually, face lighting up with a strange sort of awe that shocked him. “Or, at least, better than I did before.”

“What do you get?” he whispered back.

“That what you want has lived within you for a long time. And you hide it away to protect it because you’re a little afraid of wanting it.”

He felt pinned by her again. But wasn’t that the point? Vulnerability was at the heart of intimacy. Wasn’t she supposed to see things others couldn’t? And wasn’t he supposed to allow her that even if it was frightening?

“I’m not ruled by something that struck me when I was ten,” he said quietly. “And we all want to protect what is dear to us.”

“I know,” she licked her lips and shuffled up his chest until they were at eye level with each other. His arm shifted to move with her, and his body was reacting in a way counter-intuitive to his anxiety. Her hand stroked the t-shirt over his abdomen gently. “But we form some of our strongest associations in pre-pubescence. You know that.”

He nodded, breathing a little roughly through his mouth. He wanted to get to know her, but he hadn’t expected the getting-to-know-you bit to become so… charged. She looked at him and waited. When all he did was stare, she said, “You said it didn’t come from out of nowhere…”

His face flamed, and he wanted to turn away, but she was right – he held onto things for a long time and shielded them from view to avoid dealing with them. But he wanted her _to see_. It was all just happening faster than he expected.

She waited a moment longer and then broke their stare. It was a relief, but also felt a little like loss as well. He marveled that connection could happen so quickly.

“You know, when I was eleven Mom hired a kid from down the street to tutor me in history. I’d gotten a C in it that year, so…” She shrugged and then glanced back at him, a weird mix of surprise and caution on her face. “He was fifteen. I thought he was so grown up, but he couldn’t even drive yet. He was an honors student though, early acceptance into Columbia and everything. He wore these odd sport coats – you know the kind with the velour patches on the elbows? Like a college professor cliché or something.”

She chuckled as her gaze got distant for a moment. “He was really tall and wore these thick-rimmed glasses, and he was always a little scattered. Mom said it was because he was constantly thinking about something else. The poor kid probably hadn’t been on a date in his life at that point, but I thought he was so sophisticated. He just knew so much and wanted to talk about it all the time, and he was getting out of Connecticut and going to New York… he was just too cool, ya know?”

Reid stared at her in amazement. Surely, she’d just invented this story to make him feel better…

“Anyway, most fifteen-year-olds on the fast track to college would’ve resented a glorified babysitting job of a politician’s brat, but he was nice to me. He asked what I thought and really listened. I don’t know if anyone had done that before him. He told me I was smarter than I thought I was, and I worked so hard to prove him right. My crush was so huge it should’ve had its own zip code, and my heart broke when he left for school in the fall. There was inconsolable moping for weeks afterwards – drove Mom nuts.”

Emily looked back at him shyly, and he saw that this story was as private as any he kept tucked away inside him. And then his brain floored him when it suggested, _you might have been her type all along…_

“I haven’t thought about that boy in decades, you know,” she murmured and inched closer. “But I guess he made a lasting impression.”

He reached out and drew her to him, his lips slotting against hers like they’d been doing it forever, not just a few weeks. He hadn’t meant to – he’d wanted to take his time with this – but things started snapping into place with alarming satisfaction, and he just couldn’t help himself. She melted into him, smiling a little against his mouth and sighing softly when they parted and reconnected. Her hand on his stomach wandered until it found the hem of his t-shirt and quickly scooted under it, making him gasp a little to feel her fingers zipping across his skin.

“You’re not a replicant,” he breathed before pulling her lower lip between his.

“I know,” she licked into his mouth. “And thank god, right?”

“And I’ve never owned a jacket with elbow patches.”

She made a slightly disappointed noise, and he briefly considered rectifying this deficiency in his wardrobe, but then her hand under his shirt began heading south and all he could think about was that his space pants wouldn’t disguise anything. He squirmed and tried to position himself so her path would be impeded, but he ended up flailing around until his foot knocked the coffee table and sent its contents flying everywhere. The tv remote scattered across the floor and abruptly shut the monitor off. The whole room suddenly got a lot dimmer.

“Whoa. Sorry…” she gasped.

“No, uh… that was all me being weird and… hopeless. I’m sorry,” he sighed.

“We don’t… I could go,” she mumbled softly, pulling her hand back. “We could try this again in daylight when there’s less temptation.”

He grabbed her hand and stilled it. “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered. “You just surprised me.”

He ducked his face into her hair and nuzzled in that darkness until his mouth found her throat. “I get so carried away with you… I guess I was trying for some restraint. But what’s the point in fighting it?” He kissed her and then scored the spot with his teeth. She shivered, and it felt too good to be true. “When it’s what we both want anyway…”

Her hand left his stomach and raced up to grab him hard by the jaw and drag him to her mouth. She pushed against him, making a whimper that turned him malleable in her hands. He let go and allowed her to do whatever she wanted, and that turned out to be kissing him so deeply that they both forgot to breathe and had to eventually sputter apart. She didn’t let him go for long though, and when she dipped back in, licking his lip between hers, she hissed, “How can you _not_ know how sexy you are?”

“An abiding belief in everyone who’s told me the contrary, I suppose…” He curled her close, kissing hungrily and wanting to pull her into his lap, but afraid of seeming too forward. She wrestled against him trying to change their angle. It was almost as if she had the same thought as him and wanted to arch higher so she could push him back into the couch.

“Christ, I’ve been lying awake at night thinking about your hands and your mouth…” She trailed her lips down his throat, and he stretched and trembled at it as his eyes rolled closed. This was impossible. It had to be a dream. “Been remembering the feel of you in me…”

The space pants were already ridiculous, but now they were absurd with the tent pole he was sporting. He pushed his palm over it, which only made things worse. He whimpered quietly, and felt her lips pull away from his neck.

“It’s so frustrating,” she whispered, carefully forming each word. “Lying all alone and thinking about how desperately you want to fuck your friend…”

“Em…” he wheezed, eyes clamped shut as if this would evaporate if he opened them.

Her hand skimmed across his at his crotch, and then it scrabbled under the waistband of the silly pants and cupped him firmly in warmth. He choked and his eyes flicked open, staring at her as she watched herself manhandling him under the flannel. His hand fell away and let her have free rein. He skimmed his fingers up her side and ran them under her breast without thinking, breathing hard through his mouth and waiting. She gasped quietly, smearing him along her palm under his pants. His hand turned and cupped her firmly, kneading her through her blouse until her head dropped back and she shuddered out a long breath.

“Spencer… please… I want…” her voice gave out on her, and he twitched in her hand.

“Me too,” he husked, and she turned back to look at him, her expression just barely-restrained lust. “So badly.”

She twisted and caught his mouth again, sucking so hard that when she popped away from him she made a surprised ‘nuh’ noise at her own enthusiasm. Then she hovered close enough that he could feel her words across his lips.

“So, what do we do now?”

“Well…” His voice gave out and then came back to him again a little lower than before. “I’m not gonna lie. I’m hoping you’ll take your clothes off at some point.”

She laughed a little and knocked her forehead against his. He smiled back and brushed his lips against her cheek. Then she got up so quickly and stood away from the couch he almost yelped.

“What?” he started, but she slowly began unbuttoning her blouse and he went completely silent and moon-eyed instead. 

She’d shucked her blouse and bra by the time his brain came back online.

“Beautiful…” he whispered, wishing there was a bigger, better word for this feeling.

She smiled as she unbuckled her belt. Then she jutted her chin in his direction. “Might wanna… you know…”

He was confused for a second, and then she stared meaningfully at the dreaded space pants that now had an inexcusable upward cant to them. He felt a little awkward and mumbled some apologies, and then wiggled out of his clothes like a frantic spider on a hotplate. She laughed again, and by the time his wild flailing was done, she stood naked at his knees, with one hand nervously ghosting over her abdomen as if she couldn’t decide what to do with it. He hesitated, then reached out for her.

“C’mere,” he said gently, and she slid her hand across his open palm and allowed herself to be led.

She kneed over him, hovering above his lap as she leaned in and gave him a lingering kiss. One of his hands slipped into her hair and pulled her to his mouth again when she backed away. He skimmed her mouth, then pressed until she opened again with a smile, his fingers circling in her hair as he softly explored. She murmured a little, and he pulled back with a gentle slip. Her cheeks were heated – he could see it even in the dimness – and her gaze was wide with amazement.

“You’re like no one I know,” she said quietly.

It went straight to some secret part of him that had slept too long and ignited it. He pulled her back to his mouth with a groan, his other hand dancing across her ribs, down her back and curving around her bum. She murmured something he didn’t catch, blood roaring in his ears already, and then she lowered herself into his lap and they both popped apart with a gasp. He was heated and oversensitive, glancing down to find himself pinned between her and his stomach, then she rubbed lightly along his thighs and he hissed at the wetness she left behind and the little ‘mmmm’ that vibrated through her. He clutched her close, bumping her against him and making him twitch angrily, then he licked down her throat until he could leave soft, sucking halos over her breasts. Her hands thread through his hair, and she arched herself so that her breasts pillowed against his mouth, and then she rocked on his thighs. He wanted to be in her more than he could stand, but he moaned and nipped at the valley between her breasts as she breathed roughly into his hair and kept working herself.

“Can I help?” he breathed across a nipple, mesmerized for an instant as it rose against his lips.

She made a small, hurting sound but before he could ask she grabbed one of his hands and pressed it down between them. Her fingers directed his, biting into his skin hard enough to tell him she was a little out of control, and she pushed him through her, slipping together as she curled into it and meeped a tiny ‘ahh’. Reid rolled his eyes shut and held on as he throbbed all over. He bit his lip and remembered how eager she’d been in the supply closet, how hard she’d made him come in the basement…

“Ugh, Em…” he moaned without thinking, his hips rocking up against them both in futility.

She clasped two of his fingers and pressed them lower.

“Inside…” she gasped wetly, and when he pushed them into her she buried a cry into his neck. “Yeah, yeah…”

She rolled her hips dramatically in wide arcs, his fingers going deep and then slipping out almost entirely. She did it again and again, her free hand anchoring her with her nails digging into his neck. He held still as she worked him, only curling his fingers when she moaned in frustration, which elicited a louder, more desperate one. His fingers and thighs were a mess, his stomach was slicked and sticky, she was moaning and twisting against him, teeth flashing at his neck, and he was painfully alive everywhere…

“Spence…” she whimpered.

“What?”

She pulled his hand away and began rutting against him roughly, which meant that they were both moaning in tandem now. He stretched his neck to rest on the sofa back, bit his lip until it hurt, and held on. She mewled and pressed her forehead against his chest, her hands spread wide over his abdomen as her hips rocked. His were at her waist, rolling with her exertions and digging into her skin as he fought the urge to lift her onto him. But in the end, he didn’t have to fight too long. She dragged herself back, and when she swept up and forward again, he slipped inside by accident. It was just the tip, and they were both too wet to get any friction, but they cried out together as if scalded. 

“Should I…” he choked.

“Keep going,” she hissed. 

So, he did, but with aching slowness and deliberation. He wanted to feel every second of it because he was allowed to revel in it this time. _With Emily Prentiss – the most glorious nerd he knew – because she wanted it…_ She cursed him out and then rode him down, burying her face in the hair along his neck and kissing him between sharp moans and stuttered breathing. He pushed his head back into the couch and draped an arm over his eyes, too swamped by everything he felt to do anything but rock up into her and wait for her to break him. She _would_ break him, and for the first time he was grateful to be flawed and vulnerable. He would let her take him apart; he’d let her do anything she wanted.

 

The pops woke them. Emily yawned and looked around, not immediately recognizing her surroundings. Reid twitched as if someone had snapped a balloon next to him. She tensed for a split-second then relaxed, letting herself sink back against him bonelessly. They’d dozed off where they collapsed, and somehow had become a noodly, tangled mess of limbs half-dangling off Reid’s sofa in the process. 

“It’s fireworks,” she mumbled as she nuzzled back into his chest. He was lovely and warm even if he was a bit boney. 

“Hmmmm, midnight…” he rumbled dubiously. “Happy New Year, Emily.”

She twisted to look up at him. He was sleepy, with some incredible tangles sticking straight out from his head, but he was smiling shyly, and it sort of burrowed down into her and made her all soft and sappy. This guy, man…

“Happy New Year,” she whispered back, and kissed his chest. “I think it’s gonna be a good one.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows popped, and his smile spread to a grin. “Maybe you’re right. I mean, this was so much better than _Blade Runner_.”

“Wow. High standards there,” she smirked.

“The highest,” he kissed her forehead. “I don’t know how we’ll top it.”

“Well,” she drawled, feeling tired and a little run down, but not enough to toss a questionable idea away for. “We’ll never know unless we try, right?”

His eyebrows attempted to get airborne. “Well, uh… that’s certainly true. Do you… I mean, are you… do you want, uh… right now?”

He was squirming with nerves, and it set off a delightfully inappropriate hum throughout her entire body. He was so fun to play with, even better when he got on board with the playing itself. He was going to be her downfall for sure: a sexy nerd with a soft heart. She acted as if she could take it or leave it, though there was no way she was going to leave it.

“Not up for it?” she breezed. His befuddlement turned to something darker immediately, which cranked up the damned hum considerably.

“I am definitely up for it.”

“Well then,” she leaned up and kissed him slowly and softly, grinning a little when he licked at her and tried to chase her lips when they parted. “Let’s put a checkmark next to one resolution…”

She sat up and untangled herself from him and the sofa. He looked up at her flushed and puzzled.

“What resolution?”

She held out her hand and waited until he reached for her. Then she yanked him up and against her.

“I want a bed this time,” she murmured, chuckling.

He smiled as he got it, skimming her hair from her face and leaving a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Yes, agreed,” he said, then gave her a smirk. “But if you thought the space pants were odd, wait until you see the sheets.”

“Oh no. Do you have Star Wars sheets? Batman?”

He laughed and turned her, frog marching them both towards his bedroom.

“Harry Potter? Lord of the Rings? Pokémon?” Then she mock-gasped in horror. “Oh man, it’s My Little Pony, isn’t it?”

“Shut up and get in there,” he laughed, giving her the weakest shove ever before following and shutting them inside.


End file.
